Chapter Twenty-Nine
That night, Peter and I had gone to bed on an almighty row.
Thankfully Joy had been on a sleepover and not been around to witness it. But James had heard every word. He’d eventually burst into the bedroom and confronted his father.
‘Leave Mum alone!’ he’d roared. But I’d seen the terror in his eyes. He was as scared of his father as I was.
‘James, it’s fine,’ I’d quavered. ‘Dad is simply a little cross with me.’
‘A little?’ James had challenged. ‘In which case, I dread to think how he’d behave if he was livid.’
‘Don’t you question me, James,’ Peter had roared. ‘You always were a mummy’s boy. Now get the fuck out and piss off to your own bedroom.’
I’d met my boy’s eyes and silently implored him to do his father’s bidding.
‘It’s fine,’ I’d repeated, giving our son a weak smile. ‘Honest. Go to bed, darling.’
James had retreated. I’d slunk off to the ensuite bathroom, like a dog with its tail between its legs. At that point it had been vital to let things calm down. Not to further fan the flames of Peter’s temper. Revenge was a dish best eaten cold.
Nobody ever found out who anonymously dropped Henry Rumbold in it. But, not long afterwards, he was arrested outside his house. He’d been in possession of a wrap of cocaine. He had worked at the same law firm as Peter, but this time there was no saving him.
Rumbold was instantly suspended. He resigned a few days later. In mitigation, he claimed his possession of cocaine had been a one-off. An uncharacteristic lapse of judgment. He’d blamed it on problems in his fledgling second marriage. That and the working of long hours.
Without a job, his marriage fell apart. Dawn immediately replaced Henry with another sugar daddy.
For a while, things on the home front had settled down. The entertainment gatherings that Peter had loved to host became less frequent. And, when they did occur, it was a different group of people who’d tripped through the door. They were a lot more savoury and authentic.
But leopards don’t change their spots. Peter simply met up with his cronies in other places. I knew because I made it my business to find out. A quick trawl through Peter’s phone when he was in the shower gave me the heads up to whatever he was planning.
Peter and his mates switched their meetings to a gentleman’s club. No doubt it wasn’t an out and out strip club – after all, gentlemen are meant to behave. But I wasn’t so na?ve as to understand that so-called ladies provided entertainment and knew Peter would have showered plenty of money.
I sighed and deliberately told myself to stop thinking about the past. About Peter. A man who, thankfully, I was now free of.
The car’s engine note changed as it began the steep ascent to Starlight Croft.
Whilst Moonlight Manor wasn’t a place I thought of as home, the village certainly was.
There was something deeply soothing about Starlight Street.
I loved the way it ribboned through arable land flecked with sheep and cows, its fields bordered with hedgerows that stretched for miles, and all against a backdrop of green woodland.
Letting myself into the house, I picked up some post, then went through to the kitchen.
Minutes later, armed with a cuppa and my phone, I looked up Home and Hearth Estate Agents, then pressed the call button.
My neighbour Tilly worked at this local branch and, as luck would have it, she answered my call.
It was the work of a moment to have Tilly pull some strings and get an appointment in the diary for the following morning.
I ended the call with a deep sense of satisfaction.
‘Yes, Peter,’ I said to the empty space around me.
‘I’m selling up. I’ve had enough of this place.
It’s gorgeous. It always was. A beautiful prison.
But you, my jailor, have gone, and now I am free.
Let someone else have the pleasure of Moonlight Manor.
Let these rooms be filled with new people.
A Mother Earth type of woman with flowers in her hair.
She’ll have half a dozen children tugging at the hem of her dress while she organises finger paints or clay.
Nor will she care one jot if any of it drops to the floor and stains these immaculate tiles.
And let there be a father who plays rough-and-tumble with his children.
Let them ride upon his shoulders as he pretends to be an aeroplane.
Let him dip and swoop around the garden as his kids scream with delight.
It’s time this house had love and laughter. ’
I took a deep breath, sucking the air right down to my belly, aware that my heart was racing.
Anxiety. I exhaled noisily, then took another deep breath.
Despite Peter no longer being around, years of apprehension had been programmed into the very cells of my body.
If I didn’t take a moment to calm myself, this could all too easily turn into a panic attack.
After another minute or two of deep breathing – and only when I was satisfied that I’d mastered the moment – I dared to say aloud what I’d never voiced before.
‘And yes, Peter.’ My eyes flashed defiantly. ‘It was me who shopped Henry Rumbold to both your employer and the police.’